Exile (55 page)

‘What?’ crooked-tooth muttered.

‘No baby yet. I won’t be cheated out of my fair share,’ ferret-face said. ‘We’ll wait for the baby to come. But we need to do it out of sight of the road. Don’t want anyone grabbing our prizes.’ He turned the pony towards a copse of trees nestled in a hollow.

Their mother moaned as the cart lurched over a rock. Ronnyn moved to support her.

While the Mieren made camp and prepared food, the little ones stirred. They wanted something to eat. They wanted Ma to tell them stories. They wanted to climb into her lap. They wanted her.

But she was focused inward each time the pain took her.

Every so often ferret-face would come over to check on them, then go back to the fire. Here in the hollow the cold was deep and damp, and went right into the bones.

The three little ones slept under the blanket. They seemed to be sleeping a lot. Aravelle suspected it was because they were cold and hungry, and huddling together was the only way to keep warm.

She sent Ronnyn to watch over them, while she did what she could for their mother, who panted as if she was running a race and the hill just kept getting steeper. Her moan was low and soft, and desperate. It was a terrible sound.

Ronnyn came back. The pair of them crouched over their mother, worried eyes meeting. Something was wrong.

Aravelle touched her mother’s shoulder when the moaning stopped. ‘Ma? Ma, do you need a midwife?’

She knew her mother heard her, for she went very still.

There was a long pause; so long that another contraction came. Ronnyn rubbed their mother’s back. Aravelle felt her stomach go hard as a drum.

Surfacing from the contraction, Sasoria caught her breath. ‘Yes, get a midwife.’

Ronnyn went to the end of the cage, calling to the Mieren by the fire. ‘Our mother needs help. You need to send for a midwife.’

Ferret-face came over to study their mother through the bars. He poked her with the cane.

Sasoria opened her eyes. ‘Please.’

Ferret-face turned back towards the fire.

‘Should we send for a midwife?’ crooked-tooth asked.

‘She’s still making sense. She’ll be all right.’

‘But–’

‘If we go to the locals for a midwife, they’ll find out about the silverheads. They’ll take them from us.’ They went back to the fire.

Aravelle grabbed the bars of the cage. ‘If you don’t get a midwife, you could lose our mother and the baby.’

‘The three silverheads are worth more.’

Anger ignited Aravelle, but she kept her voice even. ‘The baby’s going to be a silverhead.’

Crooked-tooth looked to ferret-face.

‘Nah,’ ferret-face answered his unspoken question. ‘Even if we fetched a midwife, the mother and baby might still die, and we could lose the three silverheads. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’

‘How can he risk Ma and the baby for a few silver coins?’ Ronnyn muttered. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Aravelle had no trouble believing it.

T
OBAZIM AND
A
RDONYX
met the captain of the king’s guard at the barricade.

‘I’ve just had word from Commander Halargon,’ Vetus reported. ‘He says your people will be arriving soon. His men are going to escort them across the port.’

‘Then we’d better make room for them.’ Tobazim set off across the wharf, then slowed his step to allow for Ardonyx’s injury. Over the last few days, people from their estates had trickled in and been ferried across to the ships. The problem was lack of ships. They’d purchased five vessels, but only two had been delivered. ‘Seven ships in all. Brotherhoods will be forced to share, I fear the all-fathers will–’

‘They should be grateful we’ve manage to segregate the brotherhoods from the sisterhoods.’

Tobazim shrugged. ‘I had been hoping to have a ship for each brotherhood and sisterhood, but–’

‘The other three vessels may be delivered by evening, but we still won’t have enough. Nine brotherhoods and six sisterhoods between ten ships...’ Ardonyx glanced up to the sky, his sailor’s eyes judging the time from the sun’s position. ‘Almost midday.’

Athlyn spotted them and came over at a jog. ‘The first of our people are here. All-father Kyredeon led them.’

By the time they reached the barrier, wagons, carts and people were piling up inside the wharf.

‘It’s going to be chaos,’ Tobazim muttered.

‘We’ll start loading the ships and work through the night. I’ll take Kyredeon on board and oversee the loading while you coordinate the wharf.’

Tobazim took over, directing the wagons and carts. They had two berths, where they could load ships, and two sets of stairs leading down to floating jetties. Meanwhile, their people kept arriving, a constant, steady stream of refugees.

With the T’Enatuath pouring through the port gate, Baron Eskarnor would know he had to make his move before they sailed.

I
MOSHEN RODE THROUGH
the unnaturally quiet streets of the port, watched by sullen-eyed Mieren. She rode beside the wagon where Umaleni travelled with the other T’En children. They were part of a long train of people stretching behind and in front of her.

Kyredeon’s brotherhood would have reached the wharf by now. All-father Paragian had volunteered to bring in the rear, and his brotherhood would reach port by dusk.

She sat tall in her saddle, trying to contain her impatience. Meanwhile, her gift buzzed under the surface of her skin like a hive of bees, waiting to be released. She’d done the exercises to take the edge off her gift readiness, but nothing could prevent her instinctive reaction to being surrounded by ten thousand Mieren.

It wasn’t just the innate threat their kind presented to hers. It was also the weight of their presence. For every Mieren who had natural defences, there were two who didn’t. The port contained a miasma of emotion, layered deep by time. She couldn’t prevent her gift from reading that one there, hanging over the flour merchant’s balcony. The woman positively glowed with satisfaction as she fed on the T’Enatuath’s shameful exile. Below her, a merchant burned with greed as he counted heads and calculated how much gold he could make out of supplying her people. Meanwhile, that boy with the eyes full of wonder felt a sense of loss and confusion keen as a knife, and would remember this day for the rest of his life.

Imoshen reined in her gift and focused on organising their departure. With a ship for each brotherhood and sisterhood, but only two berths it would be a challenge to load all the stores and people. She didn’t know how long it would take to load each individual ship, but suspected they didn’t have that much time.

If Sorne was correct and Eskarnor sought to disrupt the handover of the prince, he would do it here, in port in the next few days. Where was Sorne?

As she rode through the barricade gate, her heart sank. The Wyrd wharf was no larger than a city block. Already it was packed with people, carts, horses and belongings. She could see two ships at the berths. People clambered all over them, carrying supplies aboard, but it wasn’t happening fast enough.

‘Causare?’ Ardonyx’s voice reached her through the din. He was walking with the aid of a cane. Her heart rose to see him.

She swung her leg over the horse and dropped to the ground. Someone took the horse’s reins. What were they going to do with all these horses and wagons?

The crush of people entering the wharf drove her forward, into Ardonyx, who steadied her. She wanted to throw her arms around him, and her gift tried to rise. For his sake, she forced it down and kept her distance.

‘Up here,’ a voice called from behind them and she turned to see Tobazim on the barricade by the gate.

Ardonyx forged through the crowd, drawing her with him. She climbed up next to Tobazim, who offered Ardonyx his hand, hauling him up. Up here, people’s heads were about level with her knees, and she could see the extent of the crowding on the wharf.

Imoshen shaded her eyes. At least it wasn’t raining. ‘We’ll never fit everyone in.’

‘I’ve tried to divide the wharf into sisterhood and brotherhood,’ Tobazim reported. ‘But you’re right, we’re not going to fit. I’ve already started ferrying people and stores out to the ships.’

‘Can we use the land beyond the barricade?’ Imoshen indicated the open space between them and the slums. Ardonyx and Tobazim looked doubtful. ‘Just for tonight? Make a barricade of the wagons?’

‘We could. But I don’t trust the Mieren,’ Ardonyx said. ‘I’d rather get everyone onto the ships, stack all our belongings and supplies inside the barricade and keep loading through the night.’

‘How long will it take to load all the ships?’

Ardonyx and Tobazim exchanged looks.

Imoshen’s heart sank. ‘You haven’t been able to get more ships?’

‘We’ve signed the bill of sale and paid a deposit on five ships, but only two have been delivered,’ Ardonyx said.

‘Gold–’

‘Won’t help us this time. Sorne suspects the harbour-master is working with Baron Eskarnor, and he has all the ship owners in his pocket.’

‘How many ships do we have?’ Imoshen asked.

‘Seven.’

‘Is that enough?’

‘It will have to be. We can’t wait for the other three ships. While we’re sitting here on the wharf, we’re vulnerable. Brotherhoods and sisterhoods will have to share vessels.’

‘Any sign of Parazime and Tamaron?’ The all-mother and all-father were missing.

‘Not yet.’

They were running out of time and she hadn’t heard back from the Sagoras. Where would her people go?

First, they had to escape the port. The seemingly endless parade of wagons, carts and people dismayed Imoshen.

‘A little less than a year ago, the port Mieren turned on us, burned our warehouses and strung up anyone who tried to escape,’ Imoshen said. ‘There are king’s guards directing our people, but there are ten thousand Mieren and fewer than two thousand of us. While we’re spread out through the port from here to the gate, we’re vulnerable. There’s no time to call an all-council and decide which brotherhoods will share ships. The all-fathers won’t like it, but you’ll have to allocate ships and start loading up, Ardonyx.’

‘And blame the causare, if anyone complains?’

She laughed. ‘Exactly.’ How she loved his wry smile. ‘Which is my ship? I’ll share with Reoden.’

J
ARAILE COULDN’T SEE
the Wyrd wharf from the palace balcony, but she could see one of the main thoroughfares down to the port. It had been choked with carts, wagons and Wyrds since midday. Somewhere in amongst those thousands was her son. She wanted to stride in there, find him and reclaim him. Impatience tore at her control.

‘There’s been no reports of Eskarnor leaving via the port gates,’ Nitzane said. ‘He could have taken passage on a ship already.’

‘To do what?’

‘Unite the southern barons behind him.’

‘He’s better off disrupting the handover of my son and fabricating evidence to blame it on you. Then, after you and the king battle, he can march in and mop up what’s left.’

Nitzane laughed. ‘You sound like Sorne.’

‘Where is Sorne? He should be back by now.’

Nitzane covered her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Commander Halargon will ensure the Wyrds reach the wharf safely. All they have to do is load up and set sail. We’ll meet them at the headlands and they’ll hand over the prince. My ship is ready to sail at a moment’s notice.’

‘I wish they’d just hand him over now. I hate to think of him down there, so close, but out of reach.’

‘You’re a good mother.’

But she wasn’t. She’d stepped out of the nursery for a moment, and in that time he’d been stolen. Until she held him in her arms again, she would not be whole.

And when she did, she would stop at nothing to protect him.

‘V
ELLA, IT’S TIME.
’

Aravelle helped her mother sit up. Ronnyn supported her back.

It seemed like days ago that her mother had warned about all the things that could go wrong during a birth. Sometimes babies came with their feet first, and sometimes with the cord around their necks. More often than not, T’En babies were stillborn, or they were born deformed and died within days. What would she do if...

There was no time to think. This part of the birth was as quick and violent as the beginning had been long and exhausting. Three pushes and she saw the baby’s head. She eased the shoulders out, just as she’d been told. The baby was shockingly hot and slippery.

As the rest of the infant boy slithered onto the bare boards, a rush of blood followed him. Too much blood.

Aravelle’s mouth went dry with fear.

The baby mewled, as if too exhausted to cry. But he was breathing and, as far as she could tell, there was nothing wrong with him.

Her mother managed a tired smile. ‘Keep him warm.’

With tears of joy on her cheeks, Aravelle gathered him in her arms. The cord still pulsed with life. She had to wrap him or the cold would kill him, but all she had was that dirty blanket.

Ronnyn eased their mother down until she lay on her side. Then he hauled off his nightshirt, tearing a small strip to make himself a loin cloth. The rest he handed to Aravelle, who wrapped it around the baby.

Then she placed the baby next to their mother. ‘He’s perfect, Ma.’

Her mother tried to focus on him, but she seemed too tired.

Aravelle could remember Tamaron and Itania as babies. Tamaron had been completely hairless, while Itania had been born with a crown of red hair. This baby was bald and so pale that, when she’d wiped the birthing blood off his skin, she could see the fine veins mottling his flesh like marble.

He was pure T’En. She felt an unworthy stab of jealousy. By a twist of fate, this baby would belong to the elite, while she and Itania would be servants.

At that moment, if Aravelle could have cast aside her gender along with her Malaunje nature, she would have. Both were failings, both made her a victim.

It was only worthwhile being female if you were T’En.

The babe gave another mewling cry.

‘Baby’s born,’ crooked-tooth announced.